Red Threads
by oh-the-linsanity
Summary: In which Sasha's gone and ripped up her shirt and Mikasa volunteers to sew it back up .


"Oi, did one of you dunderheads do this?"

Jean and Connie looked up from the stables to find Sasha marching over, waving her shirt above her head. Connie broke out in a teasing grin. "Sash, how many times do I have to tell you, that stain has been there for _days." _He was of course referring to the time she stole meat (and barbeque sauce!) from the high ranking officers and made them all a dinner—the stain from the sauce was probably karma.

Sasha rolled up her shirt in a make shift whip and smacked Connie on his bald head, causing Jean to laugh. "No, there's a giant _rip!" _she cried, holding the shirt out for them to see. Both boys looked and found that yes, there was a rip, one that started from the abdomen that went right up the middle, which would nicely expose her _assets_, had she chose to wear it right now.

"Looks good to me, but why don't you try it on just to make sur—OW!" Connie yelped when Sasha smacked him again. Jean laughed, again.

But Sasha's anger didn't stay, it never did. Her face immediately fell into despair and she whined, "This is my only shirt left! I ripped my two spares."

Puzzlement stretched across Jean's face. "If you don't have any shirts, then what's…" he noticed how she had the sleeves rolled up, bulging under the jacket sleeves and how her pants were stuffed with excess fabric. Plus, that shirt looked strikingly familiar. "Is that _my _shirt?!" Jean shouted.

"Oh, right, that reminds me," she looked sheepish as she put on a gleaming smile. "Jean can I borrow I shirt?" She gasped, not letting him answer. "Really? Thanks so much, you're a pal!"

Deciding it wasn't a big deal, Jean rolled his eyes. But the thought of a girl, even if it wasn't Mikasa, in his clothes made him blush, just a smidge. "Just put it back with my things when you're done, okay?" he grumbled.

Sasha frowned. "I don't know when that'll be! Dude, I don't have a _shirt!"_

"Yes you do," Jean panned, finishing up feeding the horse and shutting the stable. "It's in your hand."

"But I don't know how to _fix it—_do you guys know how to sew?"

The boys shrugged. "Beats me," Connie said. He tilted his head, looking at the shirt she still held up. "How'd you manage a rip like that anyhow?"

"Dunno, I thought it was one of you or something at first but….I guess it happened in the last expedition." she said. "We were in the trees and…" she trialed off. "I guess I did some weird move with the maneuver gear and it snagged or something."

"It was Christa's cable." All three heads turned to see Mikasa wander in to the stables. Quiet settled over. "I came to tell you dinner's ready," she told the three of them, but she turned back to Sasha and said, "It was a very innovative move—but Christa didn't account for your move, and her cable knicked your shirt." Mikasa remarked quietly. "I can't believe you forgot—you whined about it enough."

The boys snickered while Sasha blushed red. "I wouldn't say _whine…."_

"I would. But like I said, it was a very innovative move. It was a good assist for taking down that aberrant. I was impressed," Mikasa nodded to the boys, "More impressed than what any of those two did."

Connie, on the defense, puffed out his chest. "Hey, I killed a titan!" he yelped.

"I killed _three _Mikasa!" Jean was quick to say.

"No you didn't, you killed _two_!" Connie shouted.

Jean sputtered. "I rounded up from two and a half!"

"_Half? _That's an _assist _dumbass!" Connie barked.

While the boys argued, Mikasa held out her hand. "I can fix your shirt."

Sasha's eyes lit up. "Really!? Aw, you're the best!"

She nodded and the two left the boys behind at the stables and headed off to dinner. "But just this once, so pay close attention so you know how to do it next time."

Sasha pulled a face. Learning how to sew didn't sound like fun. "Aw man." She slumped, but at Mikasa's not-intentionally-scary-but-scary-anyway stare, she smiled. "Alright, deal."

.

Mikasa was a quite worker, always was. Sasha tried not to fidget as she sat beside her, legs crossed, looking over her shoulder. The first few minutes weren't so hard, because sewing wasn't really that hard after all. Just a bunch of lines that crisscrossed over each other.

But then Mikasa started making _patterns._

"D'you always have to do that?" Sasha reached down and pointed to the shapes Mikasa was making.

"Hmm?" she hummed absentmindedly, concentrated on the shirt.

"The shapes, the little pattern. Is that necessary?"

Abruptly, Mikasa put down the needle and thread. "Oh, no." She shook her head, black strands of hair waving in her eyes. "No, you don't have to this. Just the first part—you remember that?" at Sasha's nod, Mikasa picked up the needle and thread and went back to work.

"Is that like an artist's signature?" Sasha asked, intrigued. "Looks pretty."

"It's embroidery my mother taught me. It's more for decoration—I guess I got carried away, sorry." she explained.

"Don't be sorry, it looks cool! Especially with the red thread." Sasha bumped Mikasa's shoulder. "Is that from…?"

Mikasa used one hand to lift up the tattered end of the scarf. "Yes."

The silence fell between them again, but this time, Sasha wasn't so keen to keep it. "Why do you always wear that thing anyway? Did it belong to your mom?"

For a second, Sasha regretted that she asked. A strange look crossed over Mikasa's face, uneasiness or just regret, she couldn't tell. But it didn't keep her from her work, and seconds later, it was gone, replaced by something softer—it was a look she only got when she talked about—

"It was Eren's."

—Eren.

Sasha smiled. "That's sweet." Sasha leaned back on her hands, drumming her fingers on the ground. "You guys are brother and sister, right?"

Mikasa kept working with her embroidery, everything neat and tidy and perfect, just like everything else she did. "His family took me in when I had no one, so in a sense, yes—he's my family."

"Oh," Sasha frowned. "The first Titan attack, huh?" While she couldn't compare her losses to Mikasa's or anyone else, Sasha knew the first attack five years ago was hard on everyone in some way.

"No, long before," Mikasa whispered.

Sasha decided not to press the matter any further. This time, when the quiet returned, both girls embraced it, and it wasn't long before Mikasa handed over the shirt, neatly folded, with the new embroidery on top—

—a small, red heart?

It seemed odd—Mikasa and hearts? Sasha opened her mouth to crack a joke, to laugh to say_something, _but then she heard Mikasa's voice say:

"Trust your instincts," Mikasa told her. "Don't let your fear control you. You use resources in ways other wouldn't, and that's valuable in a war."

Sasha ran her fingers over the threads, over the smallest little heart—perfectly shaped and even on both sides. "So the heart…?"

"Trust your heart," Mikasa simply said, getting up. "Don't let it get away from you."

Sasha smiled. "Thank you, Mikasa."

Mikasa didn't say anything else—Sasha didn't expect her to. But really, she had already said it all.

* * *

notes: idk omfg I just want them to be frandz 3


End file.
